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My good husband took the day off of work today and informed me I was going on a trip for Mothers’ Day.

A bona fide by-myself-no-kids trip to… somewhere.

At 10:00 this morning, he dropped me off at the airport with my overnight bag and my iPad and handed me a stack of envelopes. Each one is labeled with the day and time it is to opened.

The first was labeled this morning. I blew kisses and signed “I love you,” and opened the first envelope as they drove away.

Inside was a car reservation receipt.

I found the bus from the airport terminal to the rental car station and boarded.

Inside, the bus driver, a retired geneticist, was trying to convince a passenger here from a well-known university, to hire him as a teacher. “I’m 50-something,” said the white hair and bearded man of at least 65. “I want to get back into academics!”

The car is cute, small, black, and new. I started and drove it fine, but when I stopped at the Mac store for a new phone charger, I couldn’t get the key out of the ignition.

Fifteen minutes of reading the owner’s manual later, I realized it wasn’t in park. After that, the key came out, no problem.

A quick stop at the bank and I’m ready to hit the road.

To where?

I opened the envelope labeled, “Open Friday, 10:00 AM.”

Inside, there are Mapquest directions to a town about an hour and a half south of here.